


Flickers

by Hermit9



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: ... great, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Gen, Gen because I wrote it for a friend who does not ship them, because friends can totally cuddle, but they kinda cuddle?, now I want cuddles.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:06:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7769554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermit9/pseuds/Hermit9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt : Bucky's thoughts while meeting the rest of the team during Civil War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flickers

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a [London Grammar](https://youtu.be/MGvHQEGGJIc) song. I recommend listening to the song, the structure of the fic will hopefully make more sense.

Bucky understands strength in number, the need for a unit, tactical advantage. He was (after all) military trained, conditioned, broken. It didn’t mean he had to _like_ it. 

The first one had been bad enough. Tall, self-confident. There was laughter in his eyes, an edge of threat in the way he had looked at him. He was standing, looming, while Bucky had tried not to struggle. His arm was caught in an industrial vise, struggling was a waste of energy and would only hurt him. Besides, the aftermath of the fugue state had him drained, with the cotton and copper taste at the back of his throat that made him want to throw-up. He wasn’t sure when he’d last eaten ; had S.H.I.E.L.D. fed him? 

The tall black man did not trust him. It radiated from him, dripped from his tone. He was trying to protect Steve, thinking Bucky was dangerous, a double agent or a bomb that could go off at any time. He wasn’t wrong. The parts of Bucky that were his were grateful that someone was watching over Steve. And he decided, in that cold room with the vise, that Sam was alright. It didn’t mean traveling with him in the back of the smallest car in circulation was _any_ shade of fine.

//  
 _The air was cold and dry, winter stretching on and on over the city. Bucky took the steps two by two, motion and fear stopping his lungs from freezing together or his throat closing from the cold. It was worse for Steve. Then again, it was always worst for Steve. He paused on the top of the stairs, filling as much of the doorframe as he could before, in a smooth practiced move, opening the door and stepping inside. He was never fast enough to block the escape of the apartment’s meager heat. But he tried every single time._

_“Hey.” Steve was sitting up in bed, nested with as many blankets and pillows they owned. He eyes were wide and fever-flushed._

_“Hey.” Bucky removed his jacket and boots, discarding them before moving into the apartment. He didn’t want to drag any more cold with him. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and balled it up roughly, shoving it behind Steve’s back as a body warm pillow._

_“Don’t. Need.” The words were spaced by the thin breath._

_“Yes, you do. I could almost hear the wheezing from outside.”_

_“Thin. Walls.”  
Bucky didn’t answer. There was no answer to give. The apartment was cheap, but that was it’s only redeeming quality. The plaster was soft and waterlogged, smelling, always, faintly of mildew. The landlord wouldn’t fix the radiators without a bribe, so it was always cold._

_“Got you something.”_

_“Shouldn’t.” Steve stopped, unable to form the next word. It was swallowed by the high pitched wheezing escaping his throat, like the cries of a wounded bird. The coughing fit followed, lasting a long shaky minute._

_“Yes, I should.” Bucky pulled the round pill box from his pocket. There was a bright red ladybug enameled on it, chipped and dulled in places. It had, once, been Steve’s mother’s._

_“I will get you better medicine soon, but you need this now.”_

_“Am. Fine.”_

_“No, you’re not. Now, open your mouth.”_

_Steve relented, opening his mouth so his friend could drop the halved (crushed) daffodil yellow tablet under his tongue. Satisfied, Bucky took one of the threadbare quilts and wrapped it around them both as he climbed onto the bed. Sharing body heat against the winter wasn’t something either of them was shy about, anymore._

_“Hate. This part.” Steve’s breathing was already easier, but he closed his eyes in frustration against what was to come. Bucky sighed and settled a bit so Steve could lean on him as the ephedrine flooded his body, speeding his heart rate and making him shake with muscle tremors. Maybe the thin boy would manage to sleep tonight. Bucky would have to find them food tomorrow._

_But for now, they could weather this. They could endure._

//

The blond woman had made his chest swell with the warmth of pride. There was no jealousy there, but the warm glow of pride. He figured this was what a mother bird felt when a fledgling spread their wings and left the nest. The fact that she was clearly competent and had managed to liberate not inconsequential assets for their benefits was a plus. If Steve had a type, it seemed to be self-sufficient S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. 

He was sad to see her go, she made Steve happy. There was a soft smile floating on his lips for the remainder of the drive.

//  
 _ **Recon mission, somewhere in the backwater parts of France.**_

_They were looking for a German artillery detachment. Which meant, in essence, that the higher ups had pointed them in a direction with so little intel it probably was criminal. It meant cold nights because a fire would have been a bright idiotic target. Bucky didn't mind. There was something soothing about being out in the field with his team. He trusted these guys more than the base, more than the pressed and starched uniforms that would have left them to die. Besides, out in the (literal) field, he got to watch out for Steve, and that was like being home in all the ways that mattered. Bucky stretched and rolled on his back, he’d been lying prone for two hours, on watch, and not as much as a rabbit had moved out there. Dawn was still a good way away, but the very full moon was bathing everything in silver and blue, with sharp edges and stark shadows. If there really was a Kraut mortar out there they were as dark and as cold as the Howlies._

_“You should be sleeping Steve.”_

_“I know.”_

_“What's keeping you up?”_

_Steve sighed and shrugged._

_“It’s stupid.”_

_Bucky pushed forward so he could get to his feet, staying low as he shuffled towards the captain. Steve was holding his compass open, running his fingers on the engraved bronze, careful not to smudge the picture inside. Bucky didn’t need to see to know which picture it was._

_“Peggy?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“She’s keeping you up past curfew? Should I have a word with the little lady?” Bucky said in his best approximation of a dad's voice. It came out less loving father, more mob boss, but the intent was there. It made Steve laugh, a near silent exhale of air and a jitter on his shoulders._

_“No. I'm just nervous.”_

_Bucky just tilted his head until Steve resumed talking._

_“I said I would take her dancing. It’s a bad idea.” Steve’s voice rose above a whisper, in indignation when he saw his friend shaking with laughter._

_“Come on, you’ve seen me. I'm a disaster, no rhythm. And shuffling around awkwardly worked when I was small and just there to keep the friend busy while you snuck out the back with your date but…” he gestured at himself, the overly large shoulders and the added height. “I don’t think I can sell that anymore.”_

_Bucky caught his breath, wiping the tears from his eyes._

_“Captain America, the star-spangled man with a plan, is scared of an officers’ dance.” He scanned the horizon again, still nothing._

_“Ok. I’ll teach you.”_

_“We won't have time when we get to the base.”_

_“No. I will teach you right now.”_

_Before Steve could protest, Bucky was shaking Dernier awake._

_“Pas mon tour.”_

_“Yeah. Yeah. Come on man, give me your radio.” Jacques cracked an eye open and pointed at the communication backpack on the other side of the camp._

_“No man. Your radio. For music.”_

_“Oh. Sure, Sarge… but why?”_

_“I am gonna teach Steve how to dance.”_

_“Oh, now this I have to see.” He dug the small hand-cranked radio from his pack, then fiddled with the nubs until he found a frequency that wasn't filled with war communication and static and fear. He left the volume low, so the sound wouldn't carry too far._

_“Come on Steve. On your feet.”_

_Dernier smiled and then woke up Morita and Gabe. They let Dum Dum sleep; he’d taken guard duty before the Sarge and was dead to the world._

_The air smelled of lavender and iron and the chemical edge of something man made burning in the distance. There was grime and dried blood in every crease and fold of their gear, some of it was even not their own. But under that moon, with the thin sound of the transistor, the Howling Commandos smiled (and snored). They were content. Even flirting with the dangerous edge of happiness._

//

The airport was a mixed bag. He didn’t like Lang. He was loud, brash, désinvolte. He had no discipline. He put his hands on Steve too long, starstruck, acting like a poorly housebroken puppy. Sam had given them the rundown of Lang’s skill sets on their way to the rendezvous point. Bucky had hoped for stealth capacity ; his assessment was being quickly reduced to distraction and possible cannon-fodder. He didn’t have it in him to feel bad about that. He hoped Steve would see it that way too. His friend was a great tactician… when he wanted to be. He tended to try to save everyone, all the time, no matter the cost to himself. That left him vulnerable more than he should be.

The archer he liked. He was confident without Sam’s posturing. He was good, knew it, and didn’t feel like he needed to prove it to anyone. All of this was good. Meant they would have range support and cover and that Bucky could stay mobile, picking up the slack where he was needed.

The girl broke his heart a bit. She was so young, yet her eyes were cold and closed. They shouldn’t be counting on a kid, not to watch their backs. They should be watching over hers.

//

_“Aren’t you supposed to get more items?”_

_“I like the soup.” Steve shrugged and took another spoonful of the pea soup. It was starchy and too salty, but it was warm and comforting anyways. “The bread rolls are dry, though.”_

_“Right.” Bucky’s tone made it clear he didn’t really believe that was the whole story. He took a look around the lunchroom and spotted the young girl eating a plate of stew as fast as she could, her tray also suspiciously empty. There were bruises on her jaw and wrists. Steve was holding himself like his ribs hurt. Bucky sighed._

_“Where’s Walker?”_

_“Office. Miss Hawthorne saw him, for once. He’d taken Joan’s lunch money and she’s too scared to tell. But she caught him kicking me so at least that’s good.”_

_“Ah,” Bucky said._

_“I don’t like bullies Buck. And I can’t always wait for you to be around.”_

_Bucky reached across the table, dropping his own bowl of rice pudding onto Steve’s tray._

_“I don’t like the rice pudding,” he said, winking. “Think Joan will let us walk her home?”_

_“If you ask? Yeah. Might have to run away from her dad, though.”_

_“I think I can do that.”_

_They both grinned and finished their meal in comfortable silence._

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic that made me realize a few things (I've been kicking it around as a WIP for about 2 months).  
> 1 - The gigantic library in my town is awesome and I should go there more often.  
> 2 - 1920s medical texts are terrifying. 
> 
> I'm not super happy with the actual Civil War parts. But I have to let it go. Might circle back in a while to edit a bit.


End file.
